


I would be safer on my own

by lalaluma



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, Origin Story, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 10:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11872095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalaluma/pseuds/lalaluma
Summary: Jamison is worried Roadhog has ulterior motives when he commissions work after work from him, and it turns out he's right, just not the way he thought he was.





	I would be safer on my own

**Author's Note:**

> I do the dumbest things for you  
> Why do I do the dumbest things for you?  
> I would be safer on my own  
> I didn't care, you were the most exciting thing I'd ever known
> 
> Title from You Told The Drunks I Knew Karate by Zoey Van Goey

Junkrat is in kind of a spot. He’s a great inventor, good with his hands, but the problem is there hasn't been such a thing as a legitimate deal in Australia in about 20 years. He does trades, his work for something he needs in return, and because he needs more work he tries to be an honest dude, but it gets him stabbed in the back more often than not.

 

So when this monster of a man commissions a gun from him, Jamison is already picturing getting shot by it.

 

That being said, Jamison needs to work on his arm. Bad. So he makes the deal that if Roadhog grabs the parts he needs while getting the materials for the gun, and lets Junkrat use the workspace to fix his arm first, they’ll be square. Roadhog agrees. A week later he has the materials and is ready to start. Jamison was not prepared for this guy to be so quick.

 

So he fixes his arm during the day, then goes to go set up his tent for the night. Roadhog is not having that. He insists Jamison stay in the shack, for security reasons. Jamison agrees. He sets up his ratty old blanket and the small but powerful portable heater he built and goes to sleep.

 

Jamison wonders if Roadhog sleeps at all because when he wakes up the next day he is already up and dressed, drinking coffee.

 

Before Junkrat can fully wake up, Roadhog tells him he has another job for him once this one is done, but they will need to move locations first. Junkrat makes a noise of affirmation, rubbing at his eye and the arm he should have taken off, but doesn't trust this stranger enough not to steal and sell it. Roadhog hands him a cup of black coffee, and Jamison accepts it without question. The guy clearly doesn't want to kill him yet, or he would have done it last night. Roadhog asks him if he can finish the gun enough to fire it by tonight because that's when they're leaving. Jamison asks him what kind of man he takes him for, that he thinks he can't build the workable gun in a day.

 

The gun is done by the night, but there is a 20% chance it will blow up once fired. Roadhog either trusts his chances or that Jamison can build him a new hand, because he takes the gun. Either way, it’s a lot of trust to give a guy you met a week ago just because he built you a gun that will fire just about anything.

 

They pack up the tools and head out under the cover of darkness. It would be more cover if Roadhog had something quieter to drive than his thundering motorcycle. Though Junkrat thinks it might actually be pretty quiet considering the absolutely massive size of it and the weight it has to carry across decimated Australia. The machine was honestly amazing, from its engine to the tires specifically made for traction on sand, but it was also Roadhog’s baby, and there was no way he’d let Jamie root around in it for funsies. 

 

Junkrat’s only complaint about the bike was that it was built to sit one, leaving him sat on the rear tire guard clinging for dear life to a near stranger when bandits in a suped up jeep try to take them out.

Jamison is nearly knocked off the bike at first contact, and he’s sure that if the leg they had hit would have been real it would be real shattered. Luckily Roadhog caught and righted him before he could have a very fast and hard introduction to the ground below them, possibly undoing the work he’d just done on his arm and rendering him useless. Roadhog isn’t a terrible shot while he’s driving, he takes out the bandit on the back shooting them, but he can’t reload single handed. There’s also that 20% chance the gun will explode, and then he’d  **_really_ ** be reloading one handed. So Junkrat decides that he’d rather live another day than hold a secret upper hand on Roadhog.

 

He digs through his bag, pulling out his concussion mine, the detonator, wire cutters, and a screwdriver. “Don’t move, mate,” Jamison warns as he uses Roadhog’s back as a makeshift worktable (it’s sure as hell wide enough), putting the detonator in his mouth and the wire cutters in his pants pocket. It takes some tinkering, but soon enough it’s got more bang for the buck than just being able to launch Junkrat 30 feet in the air.

 

“Can you get us closer?”

 

“You got a death wish?”

 

“Maybe, but I also have a highly explosive bomb.”

 

Roadhog didn’t need to be told twice, possibly because there was a fucking bomb on his baby, and swerved closer. The bandit raised his arm to fire again, and this time they were close enough Roadhog could reach out and crush his hand. As the bandit screamed and swerved, Jamison managed to get the mine onto his steering wheel.

 

By the time he noticed it was there it was too late.

 

They pulled over in the light of the smoldering jeep, and Roadhog looked back at Jamison. “Get off.”

 

Okay, that was fair, he did sneak several bombs onto Roadhog’s one treasured possession. Junkrat did his best to not look sheepish as he slid off the rear tire guard, clutching his bag. He stood there, waiting to watch Roadhog drive away and leave him stranded in the middle of the freezing desert when instead he motioned for Jamison to join him on the front of the bike. “Hold on, let me just,” He swung his bag around to his front, putting it on backward before scrambling up and into the larger man’s lap. At what Jamison assumed was a questioning look behind that mask, he quickly explained. “There’s, uh, more than one bomb in here.”

 

Roadhog didn’t question it further and took off again. This time, Jamison safely tucked between his legs and bracketed by his arms. The wind hit him full force in the front, but it was easy to forget when the man behind him was made of _ squish _ and  _ warm _ .

 

They arrive at the next shack, this one part of a presumably friendly small town. Junkrat has a hard time falling asleep that night, not really in the habit of trusting strangers yet. He sleeps on the floor in his knapsack, though he was offered a spot on the bed with Roadhog. Mostly because when sleeping with other people he _ had _ to take off his prosthetics. Someone inevitably got hurt if he didn’t.

 

Roadhog is gone when he wakes up, and Jamison is admittedly too anxious to leave the relative safety of the shack. These people might like Roadhog well enough, but they don’t know Jamison from a hole in the wall. They owed him nothing, and that put Jamie in a dangerous position.

 

About an hour later, Roadhog came through the door just barely clinging to its hinges carrying two sacks. The larger was huge, and clanging with the sounds of metal on metal, and was set on the workbench. The smaller was dwarfed by the size of Roadhog’s hand, though he handled it with a delicacy and care that was endearing. This sack he brought with him as he sat on the bed, opening it to reveal a loaf of bread and some cheese.

 

Jamison looked away from the food, not wanting to be rude, but his stomach had other plans and loudly protested. He sighed and dug through his bag for some of the canned foods he’d scavenged when he felt something poke his back. He turned around to see a fat slice of bread with cheese on top, and for a moment he thought he might cry. 

 

“Thanks, mate, you’re a real pal,” Junkrat tried to pace himself and enjoy the apparently fresh baked bread, but he ended up coughing anyway. Roadhog waved him off.

 

“Need you alive. I got one more job for you after this.”

 

“Working me to the bone, huh? That’s fine by me, needed the jobs. So long as we can go to a trading post or raid some canned foods and clean water so I’m set when we go our separate ways, I’ll build ya just about anything.”

 

Roadhog grunted, but this time it sounded different. Unfiltered. Jamison whipped around to see he had, in fact, removed his mask. Underneath was a man with strong features disrupted by a couple of thick scars. His lips were full and plump, and his nose was wide and slightly upturned with a septum piercing. He was rugged and dangerous looking.

 

Jamison fell in love.

 

A pierced eyebrow raised at him while Roadhog ate his own slice. Jamison realized he was being rude again. He tore his eyes away from his companion’s face, focusing instead on what remained of his food. “Sorry ‘bout that, I just…”  _ never seen anyone as beautiful as you _ . “...am bad...at things…”

 

“Not all things,” Roadhog rumbled. If it weren’t for the fact that most of Junkrat had at least a thin layer of dirt and soot on him at all times, he might’ve noticed a blush at the tips of Jamie’s ears.

 

The next job was a hook. A giant metal hook lined with three nails the size of small railroad spikes and attached to a thick chain. The whole thing was to be attached to a spool that would automatically reel in when Roadhog yanked back, and that spool would hang from his belt. 

 

Assembling the hook was easy, some drilling here, a little welding there, add some cloth at the base for a nice handle, and boom you got yourself a hook. The spool, however, kept Jamison awake for three nights. Roadhog would often find him sleeping sprawled over top of it as if it was the most comfortable pillow in the world and not a hunk of metal and grease. At first, the issue was how to get it to automatically pull back. Then it was making sure the chain wouldn’t tangle. Then the hook came back too slow, then too fast. Too much slack to walk with, not enough to throw. Junkrat agonized over it, but eventually, his persistence paid off.

 

The thought did cross Jamison’s mind that he was arming this guy to the teeth with two pretty high-quality weapons as he made some adjustments to the gun, reducing its chances of blowing up to 5% (He offered to tinker with it until it got to 0% but Roadhog had other plans apparently), but then he realized if anyone was going to kill him in this wasteland, he would rather it be Roadhog. At least he didn’t play with his food, like some bandits, leaving poor wastelanders strung out and bleeding for days. 

 

They raided a few abandoned houses for food and went to a trading post for water, then it was back to the small town for the next and final project. 

 

“What do you want in exchange for the sidecar?” Roadhog muttered from the bed while Jamison ate a can of peaches with his bare hands, making a sticky mess of himself.

 

Junkrat hummed as if he hadn’t already decided. “Ask me later.”

 

The sidecar took no time at all. 4 days of welding and banging out metal plates and making it actually comfortable, and it was set. But Roadhog insisted it get a paint job, which added two more days on. Once it was done, Roadhog came up to him once more.

 

“I lied. I have one last proposition for you.”

 

“You haven’t even paid me for this job yet, mate,” Jamison laughed.

 

“Hear me out.”

 

“Alright, alright, shoot.”

 

“Stay with me,” Roadhog’s voice was quiet, but not so much so that Junkrat couldn’t make out the request.

 

“Wha--Why? You wanna keep around a guy who’s only half human? We only met not that long ago how do you know I’m not gonna turn on you? How do I know you won’t turn on me? What if I--”

 

“Shut up,” the words were affectionate despite themselves. “Do you accept or not?”

 

Jamison’s leg was bouncing with excitement, his grin full of missing and too sharp teeth was blinding. “Only if you pay me for this job first.” Roadhog nodded in affirmation. “What’s your real name?”

 

“Mako.”

**Author's Note:**

> I might make a sequel to this. A Spicy Sequel. I'll call it You were the most exciting thing I've ever known.  
> Sorry if things get wonky at the end that's where I started disassociating.  
> /dabs


End file.
